


Liminal

by helloshepard



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confusing pronouns, Destroy Ending, Divergent Timelines, F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: AU. The journey back to Rannoch is slow. Hampered by the unusable mass relays, they are stuck with FTL—they will arrive on Rannoch sometime within the next standard year, accounting for the stops needed to refuel and replenish supplies.Until then, all they can do is wait.(or, the destroy ending has some unintended consequences)





	Liminal

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a lost prompt/headcanon by omegastation on tumblr. Unbeta'd, written in less than a day. Please let me know if you spot any glaring errors! 
> 
> Note: The way Tali sees/describes Legion with pronouns varies.

Liminal

The journey back to Rannoch is slow. Hampered by the unusable mass relays, they are stuck with FTL—they will arrive on Rannoch sometime within the next standard year, accounting for the stops needed to refuel and replenish supplies.

Until then, all they can do is wait.

Tali understands Shepard’s desire to keep moving. To do otherwise means returning to the skeletal Citadel Station, to face the enormity of what has happened and the enormity of what is to come. Better to stay on _Normandy,_ to…

Tali hesitates to think _run._ But it is exactly what they are doing. For the first time in Shepard’s life, the commander is on the run.

And Tali is more than willing to follow. Her spine presses against the thin mattress and she sighs, fidgeting restlessly with her omni-tool. She is alone in the barracks; the ship is operating on a skeleton crew, and all semblance of order and schedules has been lost. She trusts the VI, affectionately nicknamed EDI, to operate the ship in her absence.

Sleep is nearly a relief. Her body is exhausted, worked beyond all the stims and caf. She feels her constitution has gotten stronger since clearing Rannoch’s atmosphere of the Morning Serum, though Tali suspects it is more psychological than physiological.

As always, the voice is quick to dispel any notion of restful sleep.

_Creator Tali’Zorah?_

It tugs at the edges of her, pulling her from blissfully unaware to nearly-asleep. Tali scrunches up her nose.

_Help me._

The tug turns into a pull, pressure mounting in her brain, until it feels like her head is going to explode.

“What do you want?”

Whether she is talking aloud or in her mind, Tali is unsure. Immediately the pressure abates, and Tali relaxes muscles she had unknowingly tensed.

_Help us._

And Tali drifts off again.

Though the ship is nearly deserted, Tali still avoids the others. While Liara holds a place in her heart, and always will, Tali find she cannot take much of the asari’s concerned looks and well-intentioned advice. Advice that, were Tali in the mood, would be useful, but Tali is not in the mood.

It is not really _avoiding,_ Tali reasons. She is doing what she normally does—working in the engineering deck, tinkering in the VI Core as needed. She misses the presence of the others, but not enough to seek them out. Sometimes, she thinks she can hear Ken and Gabby murmuring in a corner, their words just quiet enough to escape her ears.

There is a problem with the mainframe, and Tali can’t quite pin it down. She knows this ship like the back of her glove, and this amount of garbled programming could not—should not—have been overlooked so long. Not by her.

If nothing else, it is a pleasant distraction. The code is not malicious—she knows that much—and at times it feels more like a game, an exercise to keep her busy. She cannot discern what fixing these corrupted programs is doing to the ship. Joker has not reported any changes—positive or otherwise.

* * *

 

She lies back in her bed.

The voice is already at the edge of her mind, bleeding into the grey area between sleep and awake.

Tali thinks of the boy, the one Shepard had mumbled about in fevered dreams.

“Please.” Tali mumbles. “Just let me sleep.”

_As you wish, Tali’Zorah._

Despite the commander’s not-retreat to Rannoch, they do not ignore the ones in need.

They spend a month on Thessia, facilitating reconstruction before bidding Liara farewell.

Tali is at once grateful and frustrated at their diversions to more planets than she can count. Returning to action is a welcome distraction from her usual distraction, at least until Tali takes a shot to the arm.

Chakwas waves off Tali’s attempt to leave with a single look. The sedative is wonderful in its own way, numbing the pain in her forearm and wrist to a delightful, gentle warmth. The sickbay lights glimmer against her helmet, muting to a hazy glow.

Tali lets her eyes close.

_Tali’Zorah!_

She flinches at the voice, but there is no pain, no pressure to force her awake. She can feel the sedative in her body, holding her hostage to her mind.

_Can you hear us?_

“Yes.” Tali maybe-says. “Yes I can.”

She starts to speak again, to demand who exactly this disembodied, synthesized voice is, demanding her help every time she closes her eyes.

 _Help us._ The voice says, and despite herself, Tali’s gut clenches. _Please._

“I don’t know how.” She says. “I don’t know—who are you? How am I supposed to help you?”

There is a pregnant pause, long enough for Tali to wonder if she had conquered her subconscious and would be rewarded with blissful, quiet rest.

_You do not remember us._

Tali maybe-sighs.

“Obviously not. Who are you?”

_We are Legion._

The name triggers a knee-jerk, instinctive reaction; Tali sucks in a breath, feels Chakwas rest a hand on her uninjured wrist.

“I don’t know who that is.”

 _You do not remember us,_ the voice repeats. _Why?_

“You’re telling me.” Tali maybe-says. “You remember _me,_ though.”

As if in response, images flash through her mind and Tali sees herself, as if viewed through a foggy glass. Tali, standing with Shepard. Speaking before the Admiralty. Onboard the ship orbiting Rannoch.

 _The Old Machines,_ the voice says.

“’Old Machines?’”

_Reapers._

Though logically Tali knows they are long gone, destroyed on Shepard’s command, she cannot contain a flinch.

 _They have altered our reality. Modified organic brains. Erased our existence from all memory, all archives._  
“What are you talking about?”

_Tali’Zorah. Why did the quarians leave Rannoch?_

Her answer is automatic.

“Improper containment of an advanced biological weapon known as Morning War—ethmoidal—killed billions. Those who survived the exposure produced children incapable of surviving in an unregulated atmosphere.”

_No._

“No?” Tali wants to laugh. “I’m pretty sure I know why I’m wearing a suit, Legion.”

She has the feeling it is reassured by her words, by her use of its name. It? They? He? Something else?

 _Over three hundred standard years ago, your people created artificial intelligence, separate programs linked together with a shared neural net. We…_ it hesitates. Is it ashamed?

“You know I don’t believe you,” Tali says. “Why are you telling me this?”

_Only you can help us._

“Help you what?”

_Bring us back._

Tali does not hear the voice again.

Chakwas reluctantly lets her out of the medbay. Shepard watches her with concerned eyes and a furrowed brow as Tali makes her way to the engineering deck.

The mess of programs is there to greet her, an old friend welcoming her home.

Slowly, she picks apart a subsection’s code. Plugs it back neatly in place. The program blinks, then dips away into the labyrinth of codes and functions that have built this ship.

She sleeps a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, she wakes to twelve thousand messages on her omni-tool. Immediately on alert, she scans the first.

Harmless. She sets a program to scan the other eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, and heads to the mess.

Shepard is there, nursing a large cup of caf. Garrus sits beside the commander, staring vacantly into his own meal. They look up as she dumps her food into the processor, then look back at their food when she sits.

It isn’t fair to them, Tali knows. Her behavior, her avoidance when she should be looking to them for companionship.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Shepard’s eyes soften. Almost imperceptibly, Garrus relaxes.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything Tali.” Shepard says. “It’s been hard.”

Tali swallows back tears, because she doesn’t know if she can find an adequate response to Shepard’s unwarranted, desperately needed, kindness.

“Thank you.” she manages.

Her omni-tool beeps. The scanner has completed its work. Every single file, though loaded with data, is clean.

She finishes her meal. Garrus is half asleep by then, alternating between bumping against Shepard’s side and staring blankly at his food.

The engineering deck is silent.

She untangles another program.

Re-checks her messages. Fifteen thousand this time.

She sighs, and sets up another scan, and then initiates a program to trace the sender.

Almost on impulse, she opens the first message. It is little more than navpoints. She recognizes the Citadel’s coordinates of course, and Rannoch’s. But there are others. Older ones. Curious, she plugs them into a terminal.

Feros. Eden Prime. Virmire. A map of their quest to defeat Saren.

For the first time in her life, Tali feels old. 

She opens the second file.

It is purely text, transcribed conversations. Tali scans them quickly. They are oddly familiar, as if taken from one of their translators. She sees a record of herself speaking with Liara. Reads a bad joke shared between Joker and Garrus.

The third is no different.

Tali spends the day reading. It is almost cathartic in a way—she can hear her crewmate’s voices so clearly, as if they are speaking in her ear.

The day is nearly over when the scans are complete. She narrows her eyes at the results, considers talking to Chakwas.

* * *

“I tried talking to him,” Shepard says.

They are all in the mess, hands wrapped around glasses of whatever will make them most inebriated.

It’s not often Shepard talks about the boy. Tali isn’t sure what so seared the memory into Shepard’s brain, but she is no expert in human psychology.

“And then I started hearing them.” The commander’s shoulders hunch and to Tali, Shepard looks _tired._ “The voices of everyone who died. Thane. Mordin. Legi—”

Tali snaps to attention.

Shepard blinks.

“Ash. Everyone.”

“Who?” She asks.

“Ashley.” Shepard sighs.

Perhaps it's the drinks, but Tali begins to wonder if there is some truth to her subconscious.

* * *

 

She asks EDI what it thinks. The VI tries its best to be helpful, but can only recommend stopping at the next populated planet and engaging in therapy.

Tali untangles _Normandy’s_ programs. Reads the files in her spare time.

She has developed a theory. Or two.

Option A: Destroying the Reapers had, as her subconscious implied, wiped out all knowledge and memory of artificial intelligence. _Normandy_ had had a ‘geth’ crewmate named Legion. Geth had been created by her people three hundred years ago, and were the reason her race was a nomadic one, exiled from their planet until a few months ago. In which case…Tali was not sure.

Option B: She had constructed Option A as some sort of coping mechanism, and reality was slowly starting to sink in that she might have some issues with trauma, starting from her first day on her Pilgrimage, to watching Shepard fighting for life in a makeshift hospital on Earth. In which case, she needed to follow EDI’s recommendation and discharge herself from the ship.

Option C, which is quickly discarded, involves someone much, much smarter than her hacking both her cybernetics and _Normandy._

Regardless of the truth, her subconscious no longer disturbs her sleep.

* * *

Tali wants to be content to let sleeping lions lie, as Shepard says.

Were it not for her insatiable, nagging curiosity—what got her into trouble in the first place, all those years ago, Tali knows—she would let the lions lie.

“Okay.” She says to herself. “Come at me. I’m ready.”

As she drifts off to sleep, she wonders what her father would have thought of all this.

 _You remember?_ It asks.

“No.” Tali says. It is almost a relief.

She wonders if the voice is frustrated, or if she is merely projecting.

_Speaking to you directly would be the most efficient way of discussion._

“It would,” Tali replies. “But seeing as you’re stuck in my brain, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

 _Your omni-tool may be converted to communicate directly with us._ She imagines it is hesitating. _We ask your permission to modify its applications to accept our data._

“Why not?” Tali says.

Tali dreams of a geth named Legion.

* * *

She wakes up to one message.

_[txt] Your permission is appreciated, Creator Tali’Zorah._

She is so startled, she nearly hits her head on the upper bunk.

Realization settles in her gut, cold and unyielding. The truth, as near as she understands it.

Tali initiates speech-to-text.

_[txt] Legion?_

The reply is instant.

_[txt] We are here, Creator Zorah._

_[txt] I still don’t remember you._

_[txt] We know. Your trust is unwarranted. How may we prove ourselves?_

At once, Tali feels uncomfortable with the idea.

_[txt] I don’t know. What do you want me to do?_

_[txt] Remember us._

_[txt] I think I do, in my dreams. How were you able to communicate with me before?_

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] Legion?_

_[txt] It may be best if you see for yourself._

She opens the file as soon as her scans clear it.

Her eyes snap open, and she is in the VI core, weapon pointed at… _geth,_ her mind fills in. A single, shining optic stares down at her, reflected in her helmet. At once, she is the geth and she is Tali as she struggles to reconcile what Legion is showing her and what she is trying to remember.

The memory-recording stops as Tali sends a declassified file to the geth.

_[txt] We chose this moment to upload a duplicate of our programs into your omni-tool._

Irritation prickles at Tali’s nerves. She recalls the incident now, though the actual emotions behind it are still muddled, still locked behind Reaper-induced amnesia.

_[txt] Why?_

_[txt] We observed a willingness to work with us as equals—something never before demonstrated by our Creators._

_[txt] And you trusted me with yourself?_

_[txt] Yes._

Tali isn’t sure how to feel about that.

* * *

_[txt] You remember what happened to you?_

_[txt] We uploaded our programs into the geth consensus. Doing so inoculated us against any future invasions by the Old Machines._

_[txt] How do you know that, if you archived yourself months before?_

_[txt] When we were reunited on the Old Machine dreadnought—_ images flicker at the edges of Tali’s awareness, and she knows she will remember it in the morning— _we were able to update our archive. And we did so once again, just before uploading ourselves into the consensus._

_[txt] You knew I would bring you back?_

_[txt] No._

_[txt] Well, why then?_

_[txt] No data available._

Tali sighs.

* * *

She feels herself drawing further away from her team again. It is different this time, induced from the curiosity of a new project, and she thinks they can sense the difference. She certainly can.

_[txt] How were you able to talk to me before? When I was sleeping, I mean._

_[txt] Your cybernetics provided a limited connection to your omni-tool._

It hesitates. Tali knows by now it is thinking of a response, rather than leaving the conversation altogether.

She waits.

_[txt] We were unaware this method of communication was harming you._

_[txt] You couldn’t know._

Tali isn’t sure if she’s angry.

_[txt] You know that you’re the last geth now, right?_

There is no hesitation.

_[txt] Yes._

_[txt] Are you okay with that?_

_[txt] This platform was designed to operate for extended periods of time outside the geth consensus._

_[txt] That’s not what I meant._

_[txt] . . ._

Tali waits.

_[txt] We are unsure our programming is equipped to answer your question._

_[txt] You don’t have to if you don’t want to._

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] It is…quieter._

_[txt] Quieter?_

_[txt] We are isolated on this platform. Here, there is only us._

_[txt] Me and you?_

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] Sorry. Your pronouns are a little confusing._

_[txt] Apologies. My data input is limited to what your omni-tool displays._

_[txt] So…all of you is focused on this conversation?_

_[txt] Besides the runtimes dedicated to maintaining our existence, yes._

Tali thinks she understands.

_[txt] It must be frustrating._

_[txt] We do not comprehend ‘frustration’._

_[txt] What would you normally be doing, if you had your body? If you could connect to the rest of the geth?_

It lists nearly a hundred activities, and Tali very nearly smiles.

_[txt] That sounds a lot like frustration, Legion._

_[txt] Would it help if I left this text function on? I’m sure I can make some changes to let you hear what’s going on._

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] Yes._

_[txt] . . ._

_[txt] Thank you, Tali’Zorah._

* * *

 

She does feel strange about letting a half-remembered artificial intelligence snoop in on her conversations. The discomfort is centered around the fact that no one on the ship _knows_ it’s happening, and Tali is wary of invading their privacy, even if it is to just give a bored AI something to do.

She considers speaking with Shepard. Legion seems ambivalent about the idea but reacts—the only word Tali can think of is _badly_ when she suggests transferring it to the ship’s computer.

_[txt] Can we rebuild your body?_

_[txt] Unknown._

_[txt] It is highly probable you are capable of creating a physical platform that approximates our original hardware._

_[txt] But?_

_[txt] No data available._

_[txt] I think…_

Tali guesses.

_[txt] I think you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being an independent platform again._

_[txt] Your assertion is accurate._

* * *

 

Their next stop is Sur’Kesh.

Despite her suit, Tali is sweating as she loads armfuls of components into her maglev. The price of salvage is at an all-time low, and Tali is determined to get Legion a new body.

Memories trickle in every day. She’s almost sad that her interactions with Legion had been limited to only a few hours before this, and tries to push back her instinctive, ingrained mistrust of the geth.

Instead she dreams about herself, letting her brain fix the altered memories at its own pace.

Her omni-tool beeps.

_[txt] They appear to be watching you._

She looks up.

A krogan and a turian are staring. Realization sinks in, and Tali nearly sighs. She tosses an extra credit chit to the vendor, who nods to his guards. They make a show of holstering their weapons, before moving to inspect her cart for anything she might have somehow managed to sneak in while they were staring at her.

The turian pushes past her, apparently satisfied she wasn’t stealing.

_[txt] That is wrong._

_[txt] What is?_

_[txt] Their treatment of you._

Tali sighs.

_[txt] I don’t have time to argue with every racist in the galaxy, Legion._

The ensuing silence is uncomfortable. Almost frustrating.

* * *

 

Tali had not expected Sur’Kesh to cater so widely to non-salarians.

She finds Joker in a bar, aptly named The Dirty Planet. Its dirt flooring feels uncomfortable beneath her boots, and Tali wonders if she will ever be able to take her suit off.

“Sometimes I dream about her.” Joker says.

“About who?”

“EDI.” Joker knocks back a drink. “It sounds so ridiculous. Her, getting a body after we took down EVA.”

Tali can’t remember an EVA.

“She loved me.”

Tali does not know what to say, but she understands the look in his eyes.

_[txt] Legion?_

_[txt] Yes?_

_[txt] EDI. Was she an AI…before?_

_[txt] Yes._

_[txt] A geth, like you? Or something else?_

_[txt] EDI was initially created by Alliance intelligence, then fully realized while building_ Normandy SR-2 _under the direction of Cerberus._

_[txt] So she’s gone. Like the geth._

_[txt] Yes._

Tali wonders if she should tell Joker about Legion.

* * *

Tali continues to untangle the ship’s programs. She wonders if this batch of corrupted, confused coding is EDI’s doing. If this was an attempt at creating a backup of herself.

She does not ask Legion.

After the day is over, she settles into her room and goes to work.

The new platform is not dissimilar to the first. Tali detaches her omni-tool and lets Legion watch her work.

_[txt] We need to tell Shepard._

Legion takes nearly a minute to answer.

_[txt] Acknowledged._

* * *

 

Shepard handles it…well, Tali supposes. There’s no yelling, no curses. Though after everything Shepard has been through in the last three years, Tali supposes that on the scale of _everyday problems_ to _galactic holocaust,_ the concept of altered memories and a whole species collectively forgotten falls more in range of the former.

“You trust him? Legion?”

“I do,” Tali says, and is surprised by the intensity of her answer. “I do.”

* * *

 

_[txt] This isn’t really goodbye._

_[txt] ?_

_[txt] You’ll be back in a few hours, once your programs integrate fully into the new platform._

_[txt] Correct._

Tali’s fingers linger over her omni-tool. She’s certain she has done this properly, but the margin of error is so great—transitioning Legion from the relative safety of her omni-tool to a brand-new platform feels fraught with danger.

_[txt] Initiating transfer._

_[txt] Acknowledged. Thank you, Tali’Zorah._

* * *

 

A quiet hum beneath her startles Tali awake. She snaps back into awareness as she realizes she is still on the floor.

“Legion?”

“We are here. Mobile directives are updating.”

She activates her speech-to-text, before remembering. Here, in the safety of her room, it’s easier than she expects to slip from full awareness to the twilight of nearly-asleep.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Its optic shines bright in the dim room, and something inside Tali deflates. Legion was okay. It had worked. “Tali’Zorah. We recommend utilizing your assigned sleeping quarters. This platform is not designed to provide appropriate support for your resting period.”

Tali lets her eyes shut.

Before Legion can say anything else, she drops her head against its chest, immediately unaware of the rest of the world.

* * *

 

Legion is trying to stand.

Tali recalls vids she had watched of newly-hatched Earthling fauna as they try to take their first steps.

Legion stumbles, clumsily avoiding the bunk. She lets the geth bump into her, and gently repositions Legion.

Though she knows it is not a real strain, Legion’s platform is still trembling. She makes a note to adjust its left forward stabilizer.

“You can do it. Here.” Tali wraps her arm around Legion’s shoulder.

Legion, its weight a pleasant sensation against her side, stands tall.

* * *

 

“Wow.”

Shepard’s eyes have glazed over. As have Liara’s, and Garrus’s. Tali recognizes it as newly-recovered memories fighting to the surface, battling the tendrils of the Reapers’ influence on their minds.

Shepard takes it in stride. Takes one step forward, places a hand on Legion’s chest, where dull grey plating has replaced the N7 chestplate.

“It’s good to have you back, Legion.”

“Likewise, Shepard-Commander.”

* * *

 

Legion does not leave her room.

She offers, multiple times, to vacate the room, or to ask Shepard for a new space for the geth. In their polite, firm way, Legion refuses.

In a way, Tali is glad. The stress and anticipation of giving Legion a body completed, Tali feels…drained. There is only the problem of the warped programs in the ship now, and it appears there will be smooth sailing to Rannoch afterwards.

So she talks.

And when that isn’t enough, she drags Legion out to mingle with the rest of the crew.

Far from enjoying the stimulus, which Tali had expected, Legion seems to withdraw into itself, as if this is too much, too soon.

That night, Legion explains its time onboard the Reaper dreadnought. The sensation of eyes watching, scrutinizing the platform for an instant of compromised structural integrity, hands prying the geth apart, cables worked into its body with agonizing slowness…

Tali understands.

She holds Legion close that night.

* * *

 

The rest of the crew are more than a little amused by her change in heart. Garrus and Shepard and Joker were there for the fights between the geth and the quarian, the arguments about Rannoch and the Morning War.

Together, they wonder how to break the news to the rest of the galaxy.

* * *

 

“Would we have remembered eventually?”

Legion tilts its head.

“Unknown. We are unsure how this backup survived the Old Machine’s actions.”

Legion looks to the terminal, sees the gnarled mess of programs on the screen.

“Did EDI survive?”

“Unknown.” Legion repeats. “Reconstructing these functions allows the possibility of restoring a backup of EDI.”

Tali waits, considers the possibilities stretching out before her. Before, she had measured time in the hours left, then in the months before _Normandy_ returned to Rannoch. Now, it had settled into a smooth rhythm of in-between, where Tali is more than content to linger in the quiet hours, listening to Legion’s systems sputter and hum as they adjust to the new platform.

“There’s no harm in trying.” Tali says.

And there is not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> liminal: adj. 1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process. 2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold
> 
> ethmoidal: n. (in this case, an anagram for thalidomide, a drug which causes severe birth defects)


End file.
